


eleven months from that night

by juggyjones



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juggyjones/pseuds/juggyjones
Summary: Sometimes Clarke wakes up in strangers’ arms.This time, it’s worse than a stranger – it’s her best friend’s brother.





	eleven months from that night

Sometimes, Clarke wakes up in strangers’ arms. There have been quite a few beds she’d found herself in after a night she barely remembers. Some were the canopy beds, with thin, warm bodies and gentle breasts pressed into her back. Some were king-sized beds in bare rooms, where the bodies would be big and buffed, almost wrapping their limbs around her. Some were the tiniest beds in one-room apartments.

She’d woken up with a lot of strangers in a lot of strange places.

After waking, she’d quietly get out of the bed, pick up her things and order an Uber, leaving before they even got the chance to wake up.

This time, she woke up with the stranger’s breath at the top of her head. It was a male hand resting on her waist, his leg draped over hers as her head was lying on his arm. She could feel the warmth of his body on her own skin, under the covers, and it irked a part of her brain that contained memories from the last night, more so than it usually happens.

He smelled nice, too. A little bit like sweat but also like walnut and soft cotton – familiar. She couldn’t quite place it, but it relaxed her; gave her an illusion of safety that she knew she shouldn’t have.

Clarke wanted to stay a few seconds more. She didn’t recall ever waking up and feeling like this.

She couldn’t say what ‘this’ is, either.

When she opened her eyes, she didn’t look at him. It was a deliberate decision – if she looked at him and he didn’t look exactly like the kind of muscular guy with soft skin who smells like walnut and soft cotton and makes her feel safe, she was going to be disappointed.

Instead, she looked at the ceiling; white. The walls had the slightest tinge of purple on them, and she could see a crack on the one right in front of the bed that kind of looked like an ‘S’ with a fattening in the middle.

_Oh._

She knew the crack. She knew the blue covers she was in and before she even looked, she knew there’d be a mahogany bookstand on her left.

When Clarke closed her eyes and opened them again, it didn’t go away.

She still didn’t look at the person she was partially sleeping on. If it was who she thought it was, she had no idea how she’d deal with it.

Clarke only ever slept with strangers. Never, ever, _ever_ , would she sleep with her best friend’s brother.

Her eyes opened slowly and carefully, but he didn’t budge. His breathing was in a perfect rhythm and he hadn’t moved this whole time, something she was more than grateful for.

Sure enough, Bellamy’s face was littered with freckles that became even darker in the summer; there were the cheeks that dimpled when he smiled, and long eyelashes Octavia had always been envious of. She could point out the scar across his lip he got when he fell did a drunken stunt of falling into a pool and she’d been the one to get him to do it.

This was Bellamy Blake. Her best friend’s brother, her good friend, and a person she has many memories with.

Clarke might’ve had a crush on him for the past two or three years, not long after he earned that scar, but Clarke has had many crushes. She was fine with that.

She checked; she was wearing shorts that she left at his place about a year ago, when they visited Miller down the road and everybody got wet from sprinklers, and she changed here. There was a bra on her and one of Octavia’s tank tops.

Maybe they didn’t have sex.

As if on cue, the moment she looked up at Bellamy, his eyes popped open.

His eyebrows furrowed, just the slightest bit, and she could see him replaying last night’s events in his mind. Then his face relaxed, he smiled, and pulled his limbs away from her.

“We didn’t have sex, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

Of course he’d be able to tell that just from her face, even when he’s been awake for less than five seconds.

The thing is, she’s known Bellamy for five years. He was twenty-three when she first met him, when he drove Octavia all the way from Colorado to Washington for university, and Clarke was an excited sophomore excitedly expecting to meet her freshman roommate.

The thought of sleeping with Bellamy horrifies her as much as it excites her. For now, she’s just stupidly glad it didn’t happen.

“Cool. What happened, then?”

Bellamy stretched, let out a yawn and earned a bump in the shoulder for stalling. “Miller, Murphy and I were having a night out when you called, saying your date is a creep who lives in his parents’ basement.”

“And? I remember that part.”

“ _And_ then you decided you wanted to party with us, so you and Murphy got totally smashed, and you threw up so I had to bring you here to take a shower.”

“Why didn’t you just drive me home?”

Bellamy gave her a look that said the answer is obvious. “You _stinked._ ”

“So what?”

“I didn’t want you in my car for twenty minutes. I was going to drive you home after you took your shower, but you fell asleep on my bed almost immediatelly, and I wasn’t exactly sober either, so it was easier to just go to sleep.”

“Huh.” The story made sense. Her thighs felt a little sore, so she might’ve had sex with the guy, too. It _sounds_ like something she’d do. “Fine. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Pancakes.” Bellamy shot her a warm smile as she got up, patting her back and letting out a sigh. “Oh Clarke, you’re the best.”

“I know.”

After they ate breakfast, Bellamy gave her a ride home and Clarke explained everything to Raven and Octavia. Everyone came over later for Miller’s _official_ birthday party (which was what the guys had been celebrating the night before) and Clarke didn’t notice Bellamy talked to her a little less that night, because was drunk.

Raven did. When she pointed it out, Clarke just shrugged.

For the next two weeks, everyone was busy with their jobs and Clarke barely saw Bellamy. When she did it was in the passing, on his way out of the girls’ apartment when she was coming in, or the opposite. She didn’t notice their schedules never allowed them to spend time together, which hadn’t been a problem earlier.

Octavia did. When she pointed it out, Clarke said they’ve just been busy.

When it had been almost two months—not that Clarke was paying attention to it—she realized she saw him so scarcely that she was beginning to miss him.

But she kept telling herself it wasn’t intentional and instead of calling him up, she kept finding more strangers to hook up with.

(In retrospect, that should’ve been a sign for her.)

The first time they talked, it’s was a Wednesday and Clarke got a surprise day off work because someone had donated the art gallery a bunch of money. She got home less than an hour after she had left, and found Bellamy sitting on the couch, eating her leftover Chinese takeout from last night, watching the TV.

Raven wasn’t home and neither was Octavia, so she had no idea what he was doing here.

“Hey.” She greeted him with a smile, too, hanging her coat at the entrance.

Bellamy startled. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to—I thought you were—but you’re supposed to be working—I’ll get going—”

“Bellamy, relax,” she told him. When she plopped down on the couch right next to him, grabbing some of the noodles, he was still frozen. “I don’t mind you here. I barely see you anyway, I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, sounding genuine. “I’ve just been so busy and—”

“Busy hanging out at my apartment while nobody’s home.”

It wasn’t meant to come off as sharp as it did, but maybe Clarke managed to work up some resentment towards the situation during the past three months. There were only so many excuses she could give about the change in their rhythm.

“Right. Maybe I should go.”

“Yeah. Maybe you should.”

He left and Clarke couldn’t find it in her to feel actually sorry about it.

When she talked to Raven, a few days later—she had tried to forget about it—it turned out that she’s been a lot angrier about the whole situation than she thought.

Raven listened, patiently, and once Clarke is finished ranting, she looked at the blonde with a serious face. “You need to talk to him.”

“No,” Clarke said. “He’s been avoiding me.”

“You finally admit it.”

In the end, Clarke just felt more miserable when she left than when she had come to the girl’s room. Octavia isn’t of much help either, so she’s stuck with herself.

Somehow, about a month later, they’ve fallen into their usual rhythm from now four months ago. They ate Chinese takeout together almost once a week, with Friday night bar outings, occasional games with Monty and Jasper and everyone else, and Bellamy even driving her from and to work from time to time.

Five months since that night was about the time when Clarke realized she still had a crush on him. And that she really liked spending time with him.

She didn’t notice she’d been sleeping around a little less.

(It should’ve been a sign, too.)

Five and a half months since that night was when he started dating Echo. Clarke liked her, almost against her will, and she was a refreshing addition to their group of friends.

Clarke started sleeping around a little more.

Six months since that night was when Clarke met Lexa, and six and a half months since that night was when they started dating. They were almost never around Bellamy and Echo.

Seven months since that night was when Octavia got engaged at twenty-three and Bellamy flipped out. Clarke was happy for her, even if she did think it’s a little too early. After a long night’s conversation, she managed to convince Bellamy it was going to be all right.

Eight months since that night it was Bellamy’s birthday that Octavia threw a party for and two weeks later it was Clarke’s. Before all of this, they used to celebrate it together. It was a tradition.

Somehow, the realization that _relationships_ are what broke the tradition that had been around for five years is what brought Clarke to the realization she didn’t care about tradition in general. The only tradition she did care about was the one that includes Bellamy.

Bellamy wasn’t just a good friend – he was one of her best friends. No relationship in her life was going to be worth losing that.

Nine months since that night Clarke prepared another party, with Octavia’s help, for both of them, and didn’t invite Lexa to it. They were never going to work out, anyway.

Ten months since that night, Bellamy broke up with Echo. It was messier than with Clarke and Lexa, so Clarke drove to his apartment and watched documentaries about ancient Rome and Greece with him until they both fell asleep on the couch.

When she woke up, she was reminded of that night all those months ago. It felt almost the same.

At this point, Clarke knew she’d probably been in love with him for the past year or two.

Eleven months since that night, Clarke woke up in Bellamy’s bed, wearing nothing but underwear. It was Christmas morning and they’d been partying hard the night before, but neither of them had gotten drunk.

This is how she had been wishing to wake up, for a while now. Curled up against Bellamy’s side, feeling his warmth on her skin, peaceful as the early morning sun rays peer through the window.

Safe. And happy.

She’d slept over because it was simpler to crash at his place than go home, when Octavia was spending the night with Lincoln and Raven with Zeke.

And maybe because it was Christmas, or because she felt like she had been dumped into a bath of luck, or because she’d been in love with him for a lot longer than she’d like to admit, Clarke smiled when she looked at him.

“Bellamy,” she whispered. Her name sounded fragile on her lips and he, asleep, looked the part. “Hey. _Bellamy_.”

His long eyelashes parted easily, revealing the dark brown eyes that were still in a hazy dream.

“Hi.”

He was trying to look at her, but his eyes kept giving in to the sleep.

“What were you dreaming?”

Bellamy was quiet for a second or two, but a smile crept onto his lips. He didn’t open his eyes this time. “About how the last time we woke up like this, you made me the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” Clarke brushed some hair away from his forehead.

“No,” he said. “No dream could ever be that good.”

Clarke laughed. He opened his eyes, just for a second, and she could tell neither of them wanted to get out of bed – damn the pancakes.

“Bellamy,” she said again. “I’m in love with you.”

His eyes, now wide open, searched her whole face for something. All they could find was a smile, brighter than the entire world, than anything he could ever imagine, and paired with those words, he felt like he was burning at a stake.

There could be a library built for all the things he wanted to say.

All he did say was, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed her. It wasn’t their first—even if she didn’t know that—but it was the first that truly mattered, the way they both wanted it to.

“I’m in love with you, too,” he said. “By the way, we did have sex that night.”

Clarke said nothing. Maybe she’d hate him, but he’d made a promise to a drunken girl he was in love with and he intended on keeping it.

“I told you the truth, but I left out the part where you woke me up because you were thirsty and wanted to get water. I ended up getting it for you and when I came back, you kissed me. It only escalated from there. When we were done, you told me that you’ve been in love with me but deeply in denial, and that you were going to tell me, eventually. But you made me promise I wouldn’t tell you the full truth until then.”

Clarke rolled on her back. Knowing she had sex with Bellamy but didn’t remember it was a hard pill to swallow, but somehow it didn’t matter as much as it should.

He was still in love with her and she was in love with him. He waited almost a year—albeit with a distraction in-between—for her to come clean.

She couldn’t be mad at him.

She turned to face him, instead. “Why did you avoid me for months, then?”

He kissed her forehead. “Because if I hadn’t, I would’ve kissed you, or something. I would’ve broken my promise. And I wasn’t quite sure what the extent of my feelings was, either.”

“That must’ve sucked.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ve got you now, don’t I?”

“Yeah.” Clarke kissed him, then flipped her body so she could be lying on top of him, knowing the full extent of what she’s capable of. “And we’ve also got some lost memories to make up for.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! leave in comments what you thought :)


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